The Unseen

by Kat Martin

Genres: Suspense

Synopsis

For fans of Darcy Coates’s paranormal thrills and Jeneva Rose’s romantic suspense, the supernatural and physical worlds collide in this mesmerizing tale of a gruesome murder set against the Southern Gothic backdrop of a historic Louisiana mansion.

It begins when two young boys discover a 100-year-old skeleton buried near the grounds of Belle Reve, a Greek revival style mansion built in the 1870s. As police investigate, strange and eerie occurrences plague the mansion—footsteps in empty hallways, slamming doors in empty rooms.

The owner of Belle Reve, Rachel Belmond, beautiful and still young at 44, is also in failing health, her condition deteriorating. It’s her niece, Nicole, who begins to suspect that something deadly has invaded the house. And it is Nicole who meets someone who might be able to find answers . . .

As the incidents grow more intense, Rachel’s niece, Nicole Belmond, begins to suspect that something otherworldly may have invaded the house.

Lucas Devereaux is the owner of the Baton Rouge Youth Center where Nicole’s teenage half-brother has been sentenced for a juvenile crime. The attraction between Lucas and Nicole is instant. Hearing rumors that Lucas, a former priest, has the ability to deal with supernatural events, Nicole shares her worries about Belle Reve. But Lucas can’t begin until he has more information.

Fearing for Rachel’s fragile health, trying to ignore their growing attraction, Nicole and Lucas work to find the link between the mysterious old bones and the terrifying events in the house that grow more ominous every day. Can Nicole and Lucas protect Rachel and stop the demonic forces that threaten the very existence of Belle Reve? Or is more happening than anyone can imagine?

Release date: September 30, 2025

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 400

Sample

St. Francisville, Louisiana

Friday, March 1

“LOOK, JOEY! WHAT IS THAT THING?” TEN-YEAR-OLD CALEB pointed to a bony protrusion sticking out of a wooden box in the sandy soil. The lid had come partway off, giving them a glimpse inside.

“Wow! That’s creepy.” Joey knelt near the box they had unearthed as they were building a fort in a pile of fallen logs. “Looks like part of a skeleton. Some dead guy’s hand.” He grabbed a short stick and started digging the soil away from around the box.

“If there’s a dead guy in there, we gotta call the cops,” Caleb said, far less adventurous than his friend.

Joey kept digging. “You can call ’em, soon as I see what it is.” He dug around the box, moving the lid enough to expose more bones, until the skeletal hand was completely revealed. It was clearly connected to the bones of an arm.

“Maybe it’s a grave,” Caleb said, watching Joey try to pry off the still half-buried lid. “We’re gonna be in trouble if we’re digging up somebody’s grave.”

Standing beneath a tall, moss-draped oak, Joey glanced around, but saw only thick green foliage and wild grapevines along the bayou. “This is no cemetery,” he said. “Come on, Caleb. Don’t just stand there, get down here and help me.”

Slightly taller than his friend, dark-haired instead of blond, Caleb stood frozen beside the hole Joey was digging. “I think we should call the cops,” Caleb said.

Joey just kept digging. Sand began collapsing back into the hole, enough that he had to start using the shovel to clear it away, but little by little, the box was unearthed. Joey lifted off the lid, exposing the skeletal remains inside the box.

When he spotted the skull, Joey dropped the shovel and went back down on his knees to investigate.

Caleb pulled out his cell phone. “I’m callin’ ’em, Joey. We gotta tell ’em we found a dead person.”

Joey paused to look at the bones he’d uncovered. “I think there’s a whole body in there,” he said, his gaze fixed on the pile of bones.

Caleb ignored him as the 911 police dispatcher answered. “What’s your emergency?”

“We found a body out near the bayou. It musta been here a long time ’cause it’s a skeleton. We figured you’d want to know.”

“Who’s calling?”

Caleb gave the woman his name and Joey’s. He told them they had been playing near a pile of dead logs off Creek Road, near Bayou Sara.

“A patrol car is on the way. Stay there until they arrive. I’ll remain on the phone with you until they get there.”

“Okay,” Caleb said. His parents weren’t going to like it when they found out he and Joey had been playing so far from the house. They thought everything he did was dangerous. They were always worried he was going to get hurt.

He looked back into the box to find the empty eyes of the skull staring up at him.

Caleb felt a chill. Maybe this time his parents were right.

St. Francisville, Louisiana

Tuesday, March 5

NICOLE BELMOND PULLED HER WHITE AUDI CONVERTIBLE UP IN front of Belle Reve, the 1870s Greek Revival mansion that had belonged to her family for a hundred years.

Turning off the engine, she got out and headed for the front door, trying to avoid the cracks in the wide marble steps. It was tough not to notice how badly the paint was peeling off the four white fluted Doric columns stretching across the front, or that some of the plaster had fallen off the ceiling of the covered porch.

Nicole rang the bell, letting her aunt know she was coming in, then turned the knob and walked into the entry. The interior was in as much disrepair as the outside. The pink Baccarat crystal chandelier had long ago lost its gleam, and the scuffed parquet floors needed refinishing. She crossed the faded Persian carpet and continued down the center hall toward the sweeping staircase, the beautiful rosewood banisters one of the few things still in good condition.

Refusing to think of the costs involved in doing the necessary cleaning and repairs, Nicole passed the dining room on the left and the front parlor on the right, both of which showed years of neglect.

“Aunt Rachel?”

No answer. It was a warm spring day. Nicole made her way into the big open kitchen, remodeled in the 1950s by one of her great-grandmothers, but totally outdated now.

The Belmond family had purchased the house in the 1920s. Since then, it had been rebuilt a number of times, adding electricity and indoor plumbing, but in the last few decades as the family fortune dwindled, the years had not been kind.

These days there wasn’t enough money to take care of a historic mansion the size of Belle Reve; and even though Nicole’s career as an artist provided enough for minor repairs, and had allowed her to convert the carriage house into a residence of her own, sooner or later, something would have to be done.

Nicole tried not to think about it.

In search of her aunt, she crossed the kitchen, shoved open the screen door at the rear of the house, and saw Aunt Rachel sitting in her usual spot on the terrace in one of the wrought iron garden chairs, which matched the round white wrought iron table. A pitcher of her aunt’s homemade lemonade sat in front of her.

Aunt Rachel smiled. “How’s the gallery opening coming along?” Tall and willowy, with long, softly curling black hair, she had the smooth skin, high cheekbones, and brilliant green eyes that ran in the Belmond family. At forty-four, Rachel was a beautiful woman.

“The opening’s progressing right on schedule, and Anne’s a terrific promoter,” Nicole said, referring to the owner of Anne Winston Fine Art, one of the galleries that represented Nicole’s paintings. “I’m excited about the event. Nervous, of course, but excited.”

“You have nothing to be nervous about. Your paintings are incredible. You’re a very talented young woman, Nicole. The opening is sure to be immensely successful.”

“I hope so.” The exhibit of her latest paintings was scheduled for a week from Friday in Baton Rouge. “I still need to finish the final canvas.”

“You’ll get it done,” Rachel said. “You still have plenty of time.”

“I’d love for you to be there. I hope you’ll be feeling well enough to come.”

But the odds were fifty-fifty. Rachel had been born with a rare form of muscular dystrophy, which had appeared in her late teens. She’d already outlived the doctors’ predictions, had even been married for a short time in her twenties—before the husband she adored had died of cancer.

But time and Rachel’s illness were both relentless, and day after day, she grew weaker.

“I’m definitely planning to go,” her aunt said. “At the moment, I’m feeling very well.”

“That’s wonderful. Sean’s going. He’s never been to any of my openings before. The two of you can go together.”

Fifteen-year-old Sean Handley was Nicole’s half-brother, the product of her parents’ divorce and her mother’s remarriage. When Sean’s father, William Handley, had died in a car accident, their mother had overdosed on sleeping pills, leaving Sean an orphan. Nicole, fourteen years older, had stepped in to become his guardian.

“That’s a great idea,” Rachel said. “Sean and I can share an Uber.”

Nicole smiled. Uber wasn’t a concept most people would associate with Rachel. Her aunt had a dreamy, ethereal way about her, as if she came from a long-ago, more graceful era. The house, having been built in a distant time, seemed to fit her perfectly.

“Would you like a glass of lemonade?” her aunt asked.

“Thanks, Aunt Rachel, but I’d better get to work. I want to get the painting done and have time to make changes if I need to. Why don’t I bring something over for supper?”

“I just finished a big lunch. How about a piece of that chocolate cake you baked?”

“Good idea. I ate a late lunch in Baton Rouge. Cake and a big glass of milk works for me.”

Rachel smiled. “That sounds perfect.” Her aunt didn’t have the strength to walk very far. The house was surrounded by nineteen lush green acres that backed up to Bayou Sara. Much of it was densely overgrown, all but the garden, which Rachel and her part-time gardener carefully tended.

The carriage house, constructed a few years after the main house, sat off to the side, farther along the oak-lined gravel drive. After Nicole had accepted the responsibility of raising Sean, the old building, where she had played as a child, had seemed the perfect place to make a home for the two of them. At the same time, it allowed her to keep a close eye on her ailing aunt.

Nicole headed for the carriage house, opened the door of the single-story, gable-roofed structure, and stepped inside. The building now had a living room, two bedrooms, two-and-a-half baths, a modern kitchen, and a studio workspace.

She smiled, proud of what she had accomplished. The interior, done in a style reminiscent of Belle Reve, had molded ceilings and hardwood floors covered by Persian carpets. The furniture was a comfortable mix of traditional, accented with the ornate French antiques she had rescued from rooms no longer in use in the main house.

Nicole headed for the canvas perched on an easel in her studio, the room itself a no-nonsense space with a comfortable sofa and walls lined with worktables and bookshelves. A skylight, necessary for her painting, was the only extravagance in the room.

Pulling her paint-covered smock over her head, Nicole tied the strings behind her back and went to work.

Sunday, March 10

IT WAS THE END OF THE WEEK, A WARM, SUNNY LATE AFTERNOON when Nicole pulled into the parking lot of the Baton Rouge Youth Center. Earlier that day, she had driven Sean and Rachel to church; afterward, she’d put the top down on the Audi so she and Sean could enjoy the weather on the trip to Baton Rouge.

Pulling off the scarf tying her shoulder-length auburn hair into a ponytail, she opened her door at the same time Sean opened his and they climbed out of the car. Sean grabbed his backpack off the floor behind his seat, and the two of them set off across the lot to the front of the redbrick building Sean called home five days a week.

Sean paused. “Everything’s still on for your gallery opening, right?” At five-eleven, her fifteen-year-old half-brother was tall for his age, but still coltishly thin, with thick brown hair, which always seemed in need of a trim.

“Yup. I still have to make a few last-minute changes to my final painting, but I’ll get it done.”

“You better,” Sean teased. “I really want to go.”

Nicole smiled. She and Sean were getting along much better these days than when he’d first moved in last year. He’d been grieving the death of his parents, acting out at the awful turn of fate that had destroyed his life.

Nicole had also been grieving, but she had lost her mother years earlier, when Claire Belmond had left Nicole’s father for Peter Handley. A year later, her father had moved to California and remarried, and a young Nicole had been sent away to boarding school. She had seen little of her parents in the years after that. They had simply gone on with their lives as if she didn’t exist.

“Our aunt Rachel’s going to the opening, too,” Nicole said. “Maybe you’d want to ask one of your friends to join us.”

Sean shook his head the instant before she realized the boys at the center wouldn’t be allowed to go. They had to stay with their parents or guardians on the weekends, just as Sean did. It was part of their sentencing, and it was strictly enforced.

The sound of the throaty roar of a motorcycle wheeling into the parking lot caught her attention. The big Harley pulled into a spot just a few spaces down from the Audi and the engine went off. The rider removed his helmet, tucked it beneath his arm, and started toward the front of the building.

“It’s Coach Devereaux!” Excited, Sean began waving madly. “Hey, Mr. D!”

Devereaux changed direction and headed straight for them. He was maybe three inches taller than Sean, around six-two, his thick dark brown hair well cut, but slightly windblown. Dressed in blue jeans and a snug black T-shirt, he had a broad-shouldered, lean-muscled build. A pair of biceps bulged from the sleeves of his T-shirt.

He stopped right in front of them. “Hey, Sean, good to see you. You ready for a new week?”

“Yes, sir. I’ll be in the gym for sure. You gonna be here?”

Devereaux smiled warmly. “I’ll be here.” He turned to Nicole. “Lucas Devereaux. You’re Nicole. Our paths crossed a few times when Sean first arrived.”

She hadn’t forgotten him. The first time she had seen him, he’d been standing behind a podium, an attractive man in a dark brown suit and expensive loafers. As the founder and owner of the youth center, he’d been there to welcome new students.

He had also served as chaplain and one of the coaches, but according to Sean, he had recently hired someone to assume the chaplain’s duties and increased his hours as coach.

Nicole had spoken to him briefly that first day. After that, she had seen him several times when she had picked Sean up or dropped him off at the center, but that had been a while ago.

He looked different in a T-shirt and jeans, a pair of heavy black motorcycle boots on his big feet. She had to admit he looked good. Very good. The kind of good that made a woman’s stomach flutter.

“Nice to see you again.” Nicole extended a hand and Devereaux wrapped his bigger hand around it. It felt warm and strong, and the interest she was feeling hiked up a notch.

Sean glanced down at his phone, checking the time. “I gotta get going.” His gaze swung to Nicole. “See you Friday, sis.”

“You bet.” Nicole waved as the lanky teen galloped away. She looked up at Lucas Devereaux. “Sean’s a good boy, Mr. Devereaux. If he hadn’t lost his parents, he never would have gotten into trouble.”

“Problems at home. That’s the reason a lot of these kids wind up here. And it’s Lucas, or Luke, whichever you prefer.” He had strong, masculine features. A slight crook in the bridge of his nose only added to his masculine appeal.

“I haven’t been around as much as usual,” he said. “I’ve been spending a lot of time trying to get the new facility on the other side of town up and running. Which, if all goes well, should happen next week.”

“I read an article in the Advocate online about it.” Nicole referenced the Baton Rouge newspaper, the closest thing to local news in St. Francisville. Her hometown was half an hour north of the city.

“As soon as the facility is open, I can get back to my responsibilities here full-time.” There was something in his speech, not a typical Southern accent. Not exactly French. Cajun, maybe. Whatever it was, it was intriguing.

“We’ve got a new chaplain, which allows me to focus on sports. They have their own staff at the other facility, and I’ve kind of got a personal attachment to this place, since it was my first.”

“Sean will be glad to hear that. I know you’ve been teaching him to box. I understand it’s a sport the school encourages.” According to Sean, a sport at which Lucas Devereaux excelled, and was probably responsible for the slight bump in his nose.

“That’s right. A lot of our students have anger issues. Boxing gives them a way to deal with it.”

“I suppose,” she said, not quite convinced.

“It also serves as a means of self-defense. Bullies don’t do well against a kid who can protect himself.”

It made sense. Sean was a big kid, but a smaller boy … She smiled. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

The front door opened, and someone called out to him.

“I guess I’d better go. I’m off on weekends, just like the boys, but I try to stay close in case I’m needed.” He had warm brown eyes, and as they ran over her, Nicole could have sworn she caught a glimmer of heat.

“I look forward to seeing you here again,” Lucas said.

“I’ll be back to pick Sean up next weekend.”

He nodded, his eyes not leaving her face. “Have a good week.”

Nicole watched him disappear into the building and felt as if she had met a completely different man, one better suited to the image Sean had painted. According to Sean and the article in the Advocate, Lucas Devereaux had been a troubled teen himself, even been a member of a gang.

As she thought of him on his Harley, it wasn’t hard to imagine the rebellious youth he had been. The article said that Lucas had managed to turn his life around, gone so far as to enter a seminary after high school graduation, and had eventually become a priest.

Apparently, that hadn’t worked out, and five years ago, he had left the priesthood. She had no idea how he had gone from gang member to priest to opening a youth center, but she was glad he had. The center had changed Sean’s life.

Heading back across the parking lot, she slid behind the wheel of the Audi, tied back her hair, and pulled out of the lot. As she drove home on the interstate, she thought of Sean and the changes he had made.

During the first few months he had lived with her, Sean had been in one scrape after another, including vandalism and underage drinking. Twice she’d picked him up at the police station. He’d been suspended from school more than once.

Six months ago, he’d been arrested for stealing a nearly new Maserati off a street in Baton Rouge, not the first car he had stolen, just the first time he’d been caught.

Since he was underage and there were extenuating circumstances—the death of his parents—the judge had given him a choice: a year in juvenile detention or a year at the Baton Rouge Youth Center, with weekends at home with his legal guardian. Sean had been wise enough to choose the youth center.

As she wove through traffic, she thought about Lucas Devereaux. Sean talked about him incessantly and clearly admired him. Lucas had been a good influence on Sean from the start.

Nicole had to admit there was something about him that made her want to know the rest of his story.

Maybe she would run into him again.

It was the middle of the week, the hour late, Belle Reve quiet except for the croaking of a bullfrog in the pond surrounded by weeping willows behind the house. Rachel lay awake in the big four-poster bed upstairs in the master’s suite. A faded peach satin canopy draped the sides of the bed, giving her a feeling of privacy in the darkness, making her feel safe.

For as long as she had lived at Belle Reve, a name that roughly translated as Sweet Dream, she had never been afraid. She had grown up roaming the halls, prowling the six big, high-ceilinged bedrooms on the second floor, playing with her dolls in the third-floor nursery next to the old servants’ quarters.

She loved Belle Reve, had only lived one other place in her life. When she was twenty-one, she had fallen deeply in love with a young college student named David Trent. Worried about her health, her parents had forbidden the relationship, but there was no keeping them apart. Against her parents’ wishes and the doctor’s orders, she had married David and moved with him to New Orleans.

They were happy. Madly in love, and so very sure they would be together for the rest of their lives.

Then David had fallen ill with cancer. They tried every medical procedure available, but none of the doctors could save him. David slipped away in his sleep, Rachel begging him to stay, holding him fiercely in her arms.

Even after she moved back into the house and returned to her maiden name, she had continued to mourn and endlessly grieve him. With time, David’s memory slowly faded, but her love for Belle Reve had never wavered, over the years had grown even stronger.

She knew every inch of the house and grounds. As she lay in the darkness, she recognized every creak and groan, the whisper of the wind against the windowpanes, a branch on the oak tree in the garden rubbing against the side of the kitchen.

She loved the old house and had never been the least bit frightened.

Until lately.

Something in the house had changed. She knew it. Could feel it. She had no idea what could have happened, but even the air she breathed felt different.

There were noises she had never heard before, noises even in the daylight hours. In the middle of the night, there were whispers she could barely hear, eerie sighs that had nothing to do with the wind. Sometimes in the darkness, she heard footsteps. Several times, she had left the bed and gone to the door to check the hallway, even gone downstairs to see if someone had broken into the house.

But each time she searched, no one was there.

Through the years, there had been rumors that Belle Reve was haunted, but it simply wasn’t true. They were tales invented to entertain the children or increase tourism in the tiny town. Rachel had lived in the house long enough to be certain nothing supernatural was there.

Lately, her certainty had begun to fade.

She could no longer deny that something in the house was different. The footsteps prowling the hall, the faint movement of a door opening and closing. Sounds she didn’t recognize, sounds that sent chills down her spine.

She had considered calling the police, but if they came and found nothing, they would think she was a fool. She hadn’t mentioned anything to Nicole, who already spent far too much time worrying about her.

Still, Rachel had begun locking the house’s doors at night, which Nicole had been pressing her to do for some time. She had finally given in and made a nightly check of doors and windows before she headed upstairs.

She was entirely certain there was no one in the house. Every night before she went to sleep, Rachel told herself that.

And yet, as she lay in bed, staring up at the faded peach satin canopy, listening to sounds she had never heard before, her nerves scraped raw by the incessant chirp of crickets that should have been familiar, but no longer seemed to belong, Rachel began to feel the first unsettling hint of fear.

ANNE WINSTON FINE ART, IN PERKINS ROWE, BATON ROUGE, WAS filled to overflowing with art patrons attending the Friday-night gallery opening featuring prominent landscape artist, Nicole Belmond.

Lucas walked into the showroom beneath expertly angled track lighting that highlighted the intense colors of the unique Impressionist landscapes to their best advantage. Easels displayed more of the artist’s incredible work.

After running into Nicole at the center last Sunday, Lucas’s curiosity had been piqued. He’d gone on her web page and seen an array of her colorful paintings.

As he wandered the gallery, weaving his way through men in expensive suits and women in cocktail dresses, he realized the photos on the website hadn’t begun to do the paintings justice. The vivid oranges, greens, reds, and golds in each piece gave the viewer more than just a look at the lush Louisiana countryside.

The paintings revealed the ageless strength and beauty of the land. The magnificence of moss-draped oaks along an empty lane, the mystery of weeping willows around a quiet pond, the unparalleled beauty of cypress trees against the backdrop of a sunset on the bayou.

Each piece drew him in, gave him an appreciation of the land that he too often took for granted.

“You look like you could use a drink.” A woman walked toward him, forties, blond, attractive in a slightly overstated way. “There’s a bar in the corner. What can I get you?”

He wasn’t a big drinker. Alcohol had caused him nothing but trouble as a kid. But occasionally after a long day at work, he enjoyed the relaxation of a drink. “Scotch, if you have it. Neat.”

She smiled. “Coming right up.” He watched her walk away, her sapphire dress showing off a slim figure and a nice pair of legs. She was only gone a few minutes. Returning, she pressed a heavy crystal rocks glass into his hand.

“Thanks.”

She smiled. “I’m Anne Winston. I’m the owner of the gallery.”

He nodded, not surprised. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m Lucas Devereaux. I’m acquainted with the artist.”

Her gaze ran over him. “Well, isn’t she a lucky girl.” She glanced around the gallery. “Why don’t you wander a little, while I find her for you.” She left him in front of a haunting image of Belle Reve, the historic home where Nicole and Sean lived.

Though he had never been there, curiosity, and the way Sean talked about it, calling it “that spooky old place where my aunt lives,” had convinced him to go online to see what it looked like. As spectacular as the old house was in photographs, nothing could compare to the portrait of timeless grace and elegance Nicole had painted of the mansion.

She appeared at his side, clearly surprised to find him there. “Lucas. I didn’t expect to see you. Thank you for coming. Sean never told me you liked art.”

“Not all of it. I’m not much on contemporary art—throwing buckets of paint at a canvas doesn’t do much for me. Your work, however, is incredible. I’m glad I came.”

Faint color rose in her cheeks. Lucas found it charming.

“I see you already have a drink. Would you like me to show you around?”

He nodded. “Very much.” His gaze followed her as she led him away. She was wearing a simple black cocktail dress, a gold choker and earrings, and very high heels. She had a terrific figure, which the dress elegantly displayed.

“I don’t see Sean,” Lucas said. “But I know he must be here. He was very excited about coming.”

“He’s over there with my aunt.” She tipped her head in that direction. “Sean is keeping her entertained while I work.”

His glance went past the boy to a slender woman with long jet-black hair. She was taller than Nicole, pale, and a little too thin. Nicole’s figure was fuller, more feminine, at least to Lucas.

With her thick auburn hair and big green eyes, Nicole was a very attractive woman. He had noticed the first time he had met her, been reminded on the occasions he had run into her at the center. Last Sunday, he had finally admitted to feeling the attraction, but still wasn’t sure he wanted to pursue it.

She smiled as she led him around the gallery, pausing briefly in front of one painting or another. A particular canvas caught his eye, a vibrant pink-and-gold setting sun reflected on a lake through a grove of cypress trees.

“Beautiful,” he said.

“Thank you.”

He turned and continued walking, but Nicole caught his arm, stopping . . .